


Mirror's Persistence

by starrylitme



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Altered Mental States, Ambiguity, Ambiguous Relationships, Disturbing Themes, Dreams and Nightmares, Introspection, M/M, Mental Instability, Mirrors, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Self-Reflection, Surrealism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:22:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4818437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinata's only there to bring Komaeda back, except something is keeping Komaeda there.</p><p>Something with Komaeda's own appearance, except, not the Komaeda he <em>knows</em>. The Komaeda he knows seems to be stuck in a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror's Persistence

**Author's Note:**

> You know how sometimes concepts or emotions take on someone else's form to further the symbolism of a character's mental/emotional state? Like, I saw this happen in YuriKuma once and said scene definitely came to mind while writing this. Also doujins that focus on Kamukura and Hinata. I really wanted something like that but with Servant and Komaeda. Then I just threw Hinata in to see what would happen.
> 
> This probably would have worked better as a doujin but I did my best. ^^;

The walk was what really felt endless. Step after step, one foot in front of the other, each step sinking into the sand that seemed to cover the whole world’s expanse. It was difficult keeping his eyes ahead, those steps steady. When he passed by the wreckage of what could have been a plane, he swore he heard the crackling of flames in the air. That he also felt heat pushing against him, and he nearly stumbled.

There were other things too. Other wreckages. Parts of buildings that could have been from schools or homes. Shelves. Windows. The light reflecting off the shards of glass and mirrors was blinding at some points, but there was nothing on the straight path ahead so he just had to stay on that path. If he strayed, he would have gotten lost. He’s sure of it.

His heart was pounding harder by the minute. At some point, he could only hope he’d get to the other before he fell apart. He was already sure his hands were shaking, especially as he reached up to wipe off his forehead. Just as his sight was beginning to blur, he spotted an arch. Crumbling and cracking in certain places, wrapped in vines—he hadn’t seen any greens since he got here—but still standing steadily.

Just as he passed though, the path shifted from a straight line to twisted curves and turns, all walled in by cracking stone and tatted fabric fluttering over would-be windows. He grimaced at this, making his way through cautiously, eyes flickering back and forth, alert and wide.

Then he started hearing a voice. One that had his breath quicken.

“If I could bring hope to a place like this...”

He was moving faster, having to push himself against the walls when making those sharp turns.

“That that’d make me...true hope?”

A laugh. Painfully familiar in a way that had his heart leap. Just up ahead, there was more of that tattered fabric. Light, transparent, dangling from the arch of what had to be the end of the corridor like a curtain. He pushed it back, his own voice coming out uncertain.

“Komae...”

He saw the profile of that other person. The wild white curls that had his voice rise in volume.

“Komaeda?”

“It’s naïve thinking, isn’t it?” Komaeda was saying. Except that didn’t feel like a response to his name being called. Komaeda wasn’t even looking at him, he was directing his gaze downwards. Hinata approached him, curiously, confusedly, and he noticed a few things.

Komaeda was seated. That much was clear from the start. As Hinata made his way around to face the other, he realized that this wasn’t the Komaeda he was looking for. It wasn’t even a Komaeda he knew.

Those white curls were longer and wispier, those features were somehow softer, especially that smile playing on those thin lips, and even the pallor was too ghostly, too eerie. He wasn’t dressed the same either, with a chic black jacket, a dark striped long sleeved shirt, and then there was the chain attached to a collar.

The Komaeda he knew was the guy resting in this person’s lap, barely stirring, and having his fringe brushed fondly back with long, pale fingers. The other sighs, smile warm and wide before leaning down to whisper, so very quietly and yet it was like the words were still audible through the light breeze.

“You misguided, hopeless thing.”

The thing was that Komaeda he knew never looked so innocent, eyes shut with only the slightest flutter to those long lashes, his features smoothed away into something that should have been described as serene. Dressed the same too, with that far more recognizable strange green jacket. But there was still that distinct wrong, especially with that other still there, holding onto Komaeda is a parody of what could have been a parent or a lover, cupping Komaeda’s face from where he laid on his lap, revealing that the left hand was in a mitten.

He didn’t want to suspect what laid underneath—but considering it was the same hand... When it came to Komaeda, he learned to be more suspicious of the term ‘coincidence’.

 “What...” Hinata’s throat felt dry, like the words had to be plied out and yet they kept tumbling. “What _are_ you?”

“Me?” It really sounded like Komaeda but the real thing was still resting. That chuckle sounded so similar too, but that smile had a twist to it that he hadn’t yet seen. One thing was that was absolutely certain was that those eyes... There was no mistaking the color there; even then there was more of a swirl to that gaze. “Mm, it’s nothing to be concerned with. But if you want a name, that’s a bit more complicated. Depends on the time and place, you know? For example, I could be called Servant if such was called for.” The chain made a clinking sound as he gestured to it. “For others, I suppose...” Then, with a giggle, his hand motioned back towards Komaeda, gently threading his fingers through those white strands. “One could call me _Luck_.”

The careful strokes of those strands were slow and deliberate, almost mesmerizing. Hinata had to blink a few times to snap himself out of it, shaking his head before stammering out, “L-Luck, then...?”

“Fortune, if you’d prefer. Or Chance. Perhaps, for this one, you could even call me Fate.” He sighed, moving to brush his fingers along Komaeda’s jawline. They then ran down to meet his pulse along his throat, so quick that Hinata wondered if it meant something. And he swallowed as the other went on, “I must say, it’s strange that you found yourself in this place, Kamukura-kun.”

Hinata didn’t have to look to know the images he’d cast in the reflective surfaces scattered across the area. His fists tightened, heartbeat quickened, and he responded, low and cold, “I’m here for a _reason_.”

“Komaeda Nagito, right?” Another laugh, but shorter, somehow lighter. His eyes fluttered shut with a hum. “That’s still rather strange though, isn’t it? Going through all that effort—coming here of all places—to retrieve someone you were more scared of than scared for. Or perhaps you perhaps here to punish him further? That’s appallingly heartless of you.”

“That’s not it at all.” Hinata shook his head furiously. His gaze ended up locked on Komaeda, still sleeping but his body was a bit splayed from where he laid. For a second, he imagined those thin limbs yanked out to where they’d be completely spread out and bound by rope. The jeans and jacket were both cut through, blood seeping through but nothing compared to the spear impaling his stomach or even the knife through his hand. His mouth had to be taped shut—if not for that, he would have screamed so loud they would had ran to him immediately, regardless of how any of them actually felt towards him.

He knows he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. It _was_ difficult, a lot of the time, thinking of something other than the wide-eyed stricken look that he somehow found heroic on Komaeda’s blood-stained face. _Komaeda..._ “Everyone has suffered enough, and that includes Komaeda. It’s been long enough. So...”

 _So...? So **what**?_ He trailed off, mind drawing a blank as he hesitated to find to right words for it. At least something would be enough, right? _Shouldn’t things change?_

_So shouldn’t things change?_

“I might understand what you’re saying.” The other spoke before he could say it. Just as he met that other’s gaze, he noted the expression was indiscernible. “This is just tidying up loose ends, isn’t it?”

It might just be that. _But if that was the case..._

“Too much has happened for things to end the way they are now. For Komaeda, that couldn’t be any truer. There’s a lot of things I need to ask him, to clarify with him... But most importantly...” When his eyes shut, that’s when the world around him changes. They’re back on that beach. Komaeda’s actually awake, standing across from him, staring back at him. Silent but curious. At some point, he smiles, says his name— _Hinata-kun_ —and Hinata says, deep from his chest, “I want to see him again and I need to speak with him again. If we’re all going to step towards that future together and atone for the things we did in our past, then... Komaeda _should_ be with us, right?”

His eyes snap back open, but that beach falls apart when he’s put back in that room. Still staring down the other with Komaeda still seemingly unresponsive and deaf to his sentiments and statements. But that other was looking back at him contemplatively, curiously as he hums.

A smile returns to those lips quickly enough. “How interesting. That’s certainly _you_ speaking. It sounds like you: overly simplistic, straight-forward, and nothing special. You’ve really returned to your roots. How _interesting_ —is _that_ where you’ve found hope?”

Hinata shakes his head almost immediately. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Is it? For some reason I really do wonder if your gut reaction is genuine.” He hums, playing with Komaeda’s hair once again, twirling the wild strands around his fingers and brushing through, manipulating the way the tresses curled. “You, who would have allowed the complete devastation of your given identity in order to be reborn as the supposed pinnacle of hope and talent... It’s the most fitting kind of irony that it’d turn out such was the path of despair and ruin instead. And that in the end, you had to realize there was value in what you so willingly spurned at the start.” Those fingers settled, buried and wrapped in white curls. Hinata could only stare uneasily, mouth dry. Komaeda continued to sleep on without a care. “You had to return to your roots, because you can’t fight fate.”

“That... That has nothing to do with Komaeda.”

“Does it really?” There’s a tilt to the other’s head, eyes bright as those fingers tugged just the slightest bit at white tresses before settling again. Hinata stared, tensed, wondering if Komaeda would wake. If _he_ had something to say instead of this—“You can’t fight fate.  Isn’t that something that everyone struggles with? This one in particular, with how much he _squirms_...”

To his shock, Komaeda does shift, expression twisting as though he were about to rouse. Hinata almost says his name—but then that mitted hand is pressed over Komaeda’s twitching shut eyes, and he settles right back into that still, unresponsive slumber. The other laughs. “But ultimately, he’s complacent with the way things are. It’s not so different from Hinata-kun, I think.”

“No.” The brunet swallowed and shook his head, pausing as he did turn to see that reflection—at the cold look on Kamukura Izuru’s face that really could have been mournful. “That’s wrong.”

“How so?” he’s asked, with a tilt of the other’s head. Gray-green eyes are half-lidded, the smile as unreadable as what he was used to, but it’s different. It’s not the same face. But it still frustrates him to no end.

 _Because it isn’t._ It’s hard to explain. _I’m actually making an effort to move forward like Nanami said—and Komaeda..._ _Komaeda’s not **like** that._

_Komaeda’s not like the rest of us. Even if he falls into despair the same, even if he goes through the same events, even though he faces the same struggles—he’s different from everyone else. From me._

_He’s definitely not normal—he’s anything but normal—_

The sound of crumbling took him by surprised, jerking his attention off to the side where the wall collapsed in front of his eyes, the sound of mirrors shattering high-pitched and painful to hear. Dust rose into the air, and he almost choked on it, his throat hurting and his eyes watering.

When he finally manages to look back, Komaeda was still in an unaffected state. But the other was curled over him, almost like a shield, before returning his stare with an expectant one of his own.

He has to rub at his eyes furiously because they sting. But he forces himself to say at least something, even if he had to stammer and stumble over every single syllable, “I... I’m not okay with the way things are right now. Komaeda needs to wake up.”

“Does he?” the other asks, and his gaze narrows as he repeats sharply, “Does he _really_?”

“ _Yes_!!” Hinata bursts out, flushed and loud enough he almost winced himself, even as he continues ever forcefully. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to be!”

There’s silence for a bit, but Hinata sees how the expression on that face twists while still staying incomprehensible. He’s already breathing heavily, but that other is as still as stone, his voice as low and steady.

“You’re wrong. You are not here because you need to be. Komaeda Nagito is not a determining factor in whether or not you survive. Komaeda Nagito is not a _necessity_ in the world’s recovery, nor yours or anyone else’s. If he dies, moving on is not an impossibility.” He smiles; that smile soft yet sharp like fine sprinkled poison. “Don’t say things that are so blatantly untrue; it’s so unbecoming of the _both_ of you.”

“So is that it? He’s not allowed to wake up unless it’s a life or death situation?” Hinata couldn’t help but get infuriated. “If that’s _all_ that mattered, then why the hell would we do _anything_ that isn’t ‘necessary’ to our survival?! You’re—You’re so full of it! Even Komaeda wouldn’t say something so despairingly _idiotic_!”

“That’s not what I said.” Infuriatingly, he was still calm, albeit annoyed. “I wonder if you really understand the situation here, considering your short-sightedness in spite of your resolve.”

“I...!” Hinata faltered, settling back on his feet. “I’ll admit I don’t fully understand Komaeda. That’s part of the reason why I want to see him again—to help myself at least try to understand him... If we could just talk, with everything that’s come to light...” _With some of the things that became clear about Komaeda in the time after he ‘died’ that first time..._

_But I know when it comes to Komaeda, it still won’t be easy._

“Will that really be enough, provided Komaeda Nagito is willing to speak to you? He might not be, you know.” He does know, and he knows it painfully well even as that question’s asked with such a painfully familiar cock of the head. He already pictures the Komaeda he knows mirroring the gesture—he was so prone to that look of eye-widened innocence, a look which could sharpen into something calculating so easily.

Now, the sleeping Komaeda still retains that innocence and serenity. It almost makes his chest ache. With frustration, he assumes, but there’s also an emptiness he can’t yet name. He almost doesn’t want to dare name it at all.

“I don’t know if it’ll be enough... But it will be something. And for now, that something is enough for me, I think.”

_I don’t know what’ll really happen... I can’t predict Komaeda even now. He could be angry, he could despair—he might even be euphoric with the way things turned out but... Whatever his response will be, I have to see it._

At this moment, he’s resolved himself to that. His eyes still sting, his feet are still tired, and the world and its dark reflections still prick at his skin. But he keeps himself standing steady, meeting that other’s gaze directly, and not backing down even as those hazels are shimmering.

“A _ah_ ,” the other exhales. “You’re really serious about this after all. That gaze of yours is as admirable as always—it was certainly one of the things Komaeda Nagito adored about you.”

There was a slight breeze in the area and he felt the slightest of chills, his chest clenching even more, and he inhaled sharply, breathing. “I’m not leaving without Komaeda.”

A light laugh, followed by a giggle into that mitten. Under long pale lashes, lowering in an almost demure manner, the other meets his gaze.

“Well,” he says, voice cheery, “Unfortunately, I have no intention of ever letting this one go, you see.”

_Eh...?_

“Do the both of you truly understand what you’re dealing with in regards to this one? I wonder—even if you can _ascertain_ the general situation, the experience itself may still be overwhelming.” He was tugging Komaeda closer to him, losing his fingers yet again in those tresses, cupping the other’s skull with fingers curling under his chin, tracing the line of his jaw. “There is a price, regardless of whoever you may be, for stepping outside your boundaries. Komaeda Nagito knows this better than anyone. As far as I’m concerned, this is how it should be.”

 _“It’s the way things are, you know.”_ Komaeda had just shrugged, then, seemingly carefree and at ease. His expression is similar to this one, but somehow it’s even looser, lighter, and for that it’s all the heavier. _“The sooner you accept it, the better—otherwise you’re needlessly troubling yourself...”_

**_“...not a necessity...”_ **

“I don’t care.” His fists were shaking, but his voice was steady as he repeated, “I don’t care about _any_ of that.”

“Steadfast,” the other commented, raising his brows and looking almost impressed, though Hinata doubted it. “There’s a sort of spirit in regular people with nothing to lose—it’s admirable, especially in Hinata-kun. But it’s also saddening.” He giggles. “Someone like you will almost surely die.”

 _So it’s not..._ “You said almost.”

“I’m not certain. It isn’t so strange—part of my flightiness, really. There are few things I cling to,” Those fingers were running through Komaeda’s hair, doting. “It _is_ in my best interest for him to wake, you know. But, I do _wonder_.”

“He _needs_ to wake.” Hinata stated stubbornly. “That’s what I’m _here_ for. If you can’t make him, I will—”

There’s a tremor, he thinks, that goes through Komaeda’s body and it’s startling enough that he’s almost knocked off guard, shaken—but he prevents it, swallowing and staying stable.

 _I don’t know how but—_ “I’m serious.”

The other smiles at him— _Komaeda’s smile_ , he thinks, making his heart unfairly stutter at the sight. “I believe you, Hinata-kun.”

 _Then..._ Hinata looked down at the real Komaeda, perhaps planning on reaching for him, to finally pull him away from all of this. But he stilled as soon as he did, because Komaeda, clearly for the first time, looked so troubled in his sleep.

As though his calm dream had turned into a nightmare.

The other tugged him close, wrapping arms loosely around him, whispering sweet nothings into his hair. Komaeda flinched, shivered and Hinata caught how the smile on the other widened and twisted.

“What kind of fortune do you think this is, with how it disturbs you?” he asks, but it doesn’t feel directed towards Hinata. No, even without how he shifted—moving Komaeda so that one of his arms was around his waist, fingers trailing down the side of his face, his legs dragging against the ground with the motion _oh so slightly_ —it was obvious. “It’s almost like a betrayal, don’t you think? But towards whom? And by whom?”

“...G...” Hinata’s fingers twitched, starting to shake—but he didn’t really get why. He heard the other rumbling with laughter, the sound in cadence with the clinking of that chain, but that rumbling seemed to run deeper—almost as though it resounded through the very ground, making everything clink along. “...et...”

“It’s unavoidable. It can’t be helped.” It was as if nothing affected him at all. Komaeda had _always_ seemed so calm in the midst of chaos— _like the eye of the storm_ —but this **_wasn’t_** Komaeda, this was... “I’m not _angry_ , you know.”

Cupping Komaeda’s face, his own drifted even closer; rubbing his thumb over Komaeda’s swelling lower lip. Komaeda squirmed, and Hinata went still, eyes widening significantly, when without a doubt, Komaeda’s mouth fell open and then moved, sigh mixed with a sharp, soft voice, sounding indiscriminately like, “ _No_.”

“Get...” The second that other was too close, close enough for their lips to brush together, Hinata’s fingers clenched into fists and he yelled, “Get _AWAY_ from him!!”

Then it was like the world around them went abruptly silent as the other stilled, just a hair away from a kiss. Hinata was still breathing, still tightening his fists, and he didn’t have to look to know those dark reflections of his were all wavering like rippling water.

“Get away,” he repeated, his own voice tight as he took a step forward, “from _Komaeda_.”

“...Ah, eh? Huh?” He does pull away, just a bit, but Komaeda remains in his hold. “Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh? So you don’t understand at all after all?”

When Hinata didn’t answer, he went on. “It’s unavoidable—un ** _a_** void ** _able_**. You don’t _understand_ that? At **_all_**? Is it _naïveté_? Or are you just in _denial_ at the moment?”

He still didn’t answer, but he stood his ground all the same. And the other blinked at him—once, twice, before bursting into ear-piercing laughter. Hinata did flinch, but it went on. And on. And _on_.

Finally, the laughter stopped, head dropping, with a lowering voice. “It’s unavoidable. Absolute. There must always be a payment afterwards. It can’t be helped. You can’t help yourself from it, Hinata _Ha_ ji _me_ - **kun**.”

“Save it.” Hinata responded harshly. “You can’t even be sure—and I don’t even care.”

“How unbecoming.” He stated, matter-of-fact and smiling. “I can't help but wonder... What would be enough to make up for losing you? What can you afford? Anything? Everything? Nothing? I await the determination of that payment. I might go after you all the most incessantly in my excitement.”

“ _You_...!”

His exclamation was cut short. The other was _giggling_ , insistent and gleeful. “It can’t be avoided. With those Komaeda Nagito is associated with—with those he hold _affection_ towards—I simply _can’t be expected_ to stay my hand.”

Then, his fingers ran over the curve of Komaeda’s cheek, tracing with his index finger. Under his touch, Komaeda gasped, twisted, and then that finger trailed down lower. Down his neck, making Komaeda jerk, almost choke, and then settling his fingers onto his sternum, where a heartbeat was surely racing underneath.

“No matter what you do, whether as Hinata Hajime or even Kamukura Izuru, you can’t save him from me.” He says it—so clear and so certain that it’s both chilling and maddening. For a brief moment, he meets Hinata’s gaze directly, intently, with a sickeningly serene smile spread across his face before turning back to Komaeda, cooing, that smile turning saccharine. “That’s impossible—he’s mine. He’s always, always, _always_ going to be mine. It’s unavoidable.”

His hand pressed against those bony ribs of the still sleeping, shivering boy underneath, palm dragging down. Hinata stared, troubled as he was transfixed, and quickly forced himself to find his voice once the situation registered, once one of Komaeda’s own hands had been gathered in a mitted grip, gently pulled to a pair of surely cold lips, a kiss pressed against the tip of a knuckle, before more followed, trailing up the vein, a line of blue against ghostly pale.

“St...”

“It’s unavoidable,” he repeats, soft and almost gentle. With a smirk as he places that hand aside and, in a split second, he tears that mitten off, revealing that familiar woman’s hand—long elegant finger with nails redder than even blood. He grins at Hinata’s face, gaze swirling with darkness upon darkness even the white of his eyes darkening into the darkest of blacks. “No matter who you are, it’s unavoidable. You can’t ever escape. Even if everyone else fades, I’ll always remain.”

With that, he trailed the index finger of that hand down over the curve of Komaeda’s lips. They part almost immediately in a gasp, and to Hinata’s shock, those white eyelashes start fluttering again, slowly revealing pools of calmer, stiller gray. With that whirling gaze above, that warped smile twisted even more.

“To Komaeda Nagito,” it says, lowly, slowly, sickeningly gleefully. “I am **_absolute_**.”

Even more, that disgusting hand trailed down, over his throat, and Hinata yelled, “ _Stop_!”

It doesn’t stop until that hand is mirroring the other, palms over his ribcage, fingers against his sternum, against his heart, with one last statement resounding clearly, even in Hinata’s ears and surely in Komaeda’s as well.

And with one last grin, those fingers pushed inside—going through both fabric and flesh, sinking into that body that seized up underneath, making those gray-green eyes instantly go wide, and Hinata can’t even do anything but stand there, feet rooted to the ground and paralyzed to his core as all of this makes Komaeda _scream_.

It could have lasted seconds but it felt like hours, watching that thing bury itself into Komaeda’s very being, all while Komaeda screamed and _screamed_ , each more alarming and blood-curdling than the last. He could have been screaming something but Hinata couldn’t make it out, could only stand and stare in fear and trepidation as Komaeda gripped onto his shirt where that thing was was practically being swallowed up into his body—the last bit Hinata saw of it was the chain, making one last clank—and then Komaeda rolled onto his side, his back towards Hinata, with his screams breaking into strangled wheezes and gasps, like he was either choking or foaming, spitting whatever onto the ground and shaking badly to the point where even his bones could have been rattling.

“...maeda... Komaeda...” He wasn’t even aware of him muttering his name, up until now where he managed to regain himself, gasping, and rushed to the owner of that name. “ _Komaeda_!!”

Komaeda was curled onto his side, still making those weak, choking noises, shaking so badly, and flinching painfully when Hinata’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey, Komae—”

Immediately, Komaeda swiped at him, quick enough that it actually stung his hand—even drawing blood. Hinata didn’t flinch back, but he did still, staring blankly from the red staining his hand to the red dripping from the redder nails of a trembling dead woman’s hand. Stiff, stuck in that perturbing curl, the long yellowing fingers coiling in a claw-like position—though, even if he had to be imagining it, he could almost swear he saw those fingers twitch.

His gaze flickered to Komaeda, seeing an unsurprisingly unreadable expression. His features were twisted, he knows, jaw locked with lips pulled into a frown, as cold, cold gray eyes glared upwards at him even as his head was kept low. Everything around them seemed darker than before, and as Hinata stares on, still and uncertain, he wonders if he actually can make out what seem to be deep, dark shadows under Komaeda’s gaze.

In spite of everything besides that, Komaeda honestly looks _exhausted_. And as someone who drained himself day after day, waiting for this person to finally wake up and cursing him every minute he didn’t up until he finally managed to come here—Hinata wondered, truly though not for the first time, if waking was actually harder than waiting. For Komaeda, at least.

He had been so serene while sleeping—here, there, it didn’t matter—and _now_...

“Komaeda,” he says, soft and quiet. “I’m sorry.”

Something flickered across Komaeda’s gaze—something like recognition, maybe, or even appreciation—and he flinched back, yanking that dead hand back with a hand over his wrist, though that part was obscured by his sleeve, likely hiding the bandages keeping that putrid thing attached. It still looked unsettling, almost twitching by his side and thankfully not held close to himself, and at least it was turned away so Hinata could tear his eyes away to focus on Komaeda.

Komaeda, who looked at him uncertainly and in a way that was far too vulnerable, with his voice was a bit blurred, drool dripping a bit from his mouth. The grays of his eyes were swirling, just a bit. “Hinata-kun?”

Hinata nodded, frown deepening for a bit before forcing a smile. Steadily, as best as he could, he held out his hand, offering, placating and pleading.

“Come on,” he urges. “It’s time to go.”

“Go?” Komaeda echoed, brow furrowing and features pinching together. “Where?”

“It’s time,” Hinata repeats, “to wake up, Komaeda.”

Komaeda stared, uncomprehending, but in the very least, he did pull his hand away from his sleeve, reaching for Hinata’s. Pale fingers fit against the curve of his palm before squeezing his own, and Hinata can barely think before he instinctively squeezes back and then yanks so that the entirety of Komaeda is pressed against him, fitting nicely in the circle of his arm wrapped around his shoulders, hand pressed into those soft white tresses, even as he still held that thin hand in his own.

It’s something else that Komaeda relaxes almost instantly into his embrace. It’s almost gratifying, even though the sound Komaeda makes that ends up muffled in his shoulder sounds suspiciously like a giggle. Hinata isn’t really thinking about that— _though he should; he knows he should_ —and his gaze flickers about as he absentmindedly brushed through those ivory curls, twirling the tresses around his fingers and pulling so gently through, over and over again, as he looked.

Every reflective surface was shattered into pieces on the floor—if he looked too hard, he’d see them oozing something dark—and blinking furiously, he saw that _thing_ again. Sickening, saccharine smile, twisted and imprinted on his mind’s eye, all while that voice resounded over and over again in his head, up until the point his gut started churning with how much it _sounded_ like—

_“No matter what you do, whether as Hinata Hajime or even Kamukura Izuru, you can’t save him from me. It’s unavoidable.”_

Pressing Komaeda closer, feeling him sigh— _pretending that dead woman’s hand wasn’t dangling at his side, purposefully detached from their embrace_ —ignoring the tremor that went through him as his fingers buried themselves in cottony, silky white, Hinata’s glare at the broken pieces of the mirror darkened, teeth gritting as he thought fiercely, challengingly.

**_We’ll_ see _about that._**


End file.
